


place in the pack

by maraudersourwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Stiles Stilinski, Beginning of the Beginning, Beginning of the Original Pack, Derek Feels Guilty, Derek-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Hurt Derek, M/M, Pack Feels, Romantic Gestures, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Sacrificing Derek, Stiles is Frustrated, Stiles is Still a Minor Here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:37:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersourwolf/pseuds/maraudersourwolf
Summary: Derek understood since the beginning which was his place in that weird pack that Scott, Stiles and him comformed.Or better said, which wasn’t.





	place in the pack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseszain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseszain/gifts).



> It’s not beta’d just _because._  
>  And it’s messier than everything I’ve written until now, I’m pretty sure. 
> 
> But it was Cara’s birthday so long ago i’m so fucking sorry i really am and I wanted to give her an unforgivable present.  
> Like one of my shitty fanfics. 
> 
> I really love you, princess. Enjoy it and please don’t hate me, I really tried. Happy belated birthday ♥

 

Derek understood since the beginning which was his place in that weird pack that Scott, Stiles and him comformed.

Or better said, which  _wasn’t_.

After some introspective thinking, he could pretty much accept that even in the clusterfuck that was his life, he tried to do what was best. Key word being  _tried_.

Coming back to the hell Beacon Hills represented in his mind, full of painful memories and harmful ghost, on a frenzy search for his sister just to find her dead and ripped in two was probably one of the hardest blows he ever had to endure in his life. And if you add to the equation the fact that he not only lose the last link to his family but that the guilty of it was his own crazy uncle, well. There isn’t much to say, isn’t it?

Having Scott and Stiles in the middle of it all was just plain bad luck. For both him and the boys. A messed up situation that ended up in a messed up relationship. Like everything in Derek’s life.

Saving Scott and Stiles, over and over again. Being saved by them, over and over again. Getting revenge for his sister. Getting revenge for his family. Bye psycho ex-girlfriend, bye crazy uncle. Things somehow worked out, he did his best. He tried his best. The boys didn’t thought so.

Derek wanted Scott to be pack, but the boy didn’t had any desire into being anything from Derek. Stiles was out of the question too. Derek got himself a reputation that was impossible to change by now and it was too late for new first impressions. So he was pretty much on his own, unless things got really bad. And that’s what mattered, right? That they got each other’s back. That was what made that little and disfunctional pack work.

That’s what he thought at least.

Derek wasn’t sure in what moment his mind settled into sacrificing himself for the greater good, but it didn’t really matter. He didn’t have anything to lose anymore and neither Scott nor Stiles cared as long as their lifes where safe. Or the life of someone they deeply cared. Or maybe even the life of some random citizen that was probably most likely more valuable than the life of a  _monster_.

He could vividly remember Stiles saying to Scott that they should kill him, and many other times that they should let him die. And by now, he internally agreed most of the times.

Derek had pretty clear what his function for the pack was:  _he was the guy that no one wanted but somewhat still relayed to_. The shield of real flesh and bone for the front battle. The punch ball to any snark or painful comment from the teens too. The aim to all the sarcasm and bitterness those two boys could muster. The helping hand at research time and the volunteered sacrify in times of need.

And that was fine by him.

What wasn’t fine was that he now had a pretty pissed Stiles in front of his face, pushing at his chest with long, bony and trembling hands. His brows frowned and jaw clenched tightly in what seemed like a perfect copy of Derek’s mannerisms. A growl rumbled on Stiles’ chest in what seemed more like a wolf instead of a human. And waves of mixed anger, frustration and a hint of fear crashed over his werewolf senses.

Derek didn’t understand now.

“I’m so fucking tired of you playing the martyr every fucking time! What is it, huh? Do you think that sacrificing yourself for me is gonna make Scott decide to be with you in that fucking excuse of a pack to show some kind of gratitude to your sorry little werewolf ass? That being near death is worth it to protect the puny little human here?”

Derek suddenly found himself cornered in between two burned down walls from what now was the burned up squeleton of his old family house. The smell of smoke and charred skin making his stomach turn, the look on Stiles’ eyes making him want to trow up. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. But he found himself feeling weak.

“Oh, no, right, I get it now. This is some sort of fucking dellusional idea in wich getting gutted alive time after time to protect me makes you pay for that stupid guilt trip of yours, am I right?,” a sardonic and almost hysterical laugh ringed on Derek’s ears after Stiles shoved him another time; his back hitting once more the remaining of tapestry, “Do we got a winner?  _Ding ding ding_ , of fucking course we got a winner! Of course it’s because of that, of fucking course!”

His bony hands abandoned the place on Derek’s chest and suddenly the werewolf could feel the lack of heat there. Something he wasn’t aware he needed. Another ghost of a touch he could not get back.

Stiles was rubbing his own face, groaning loudly while starting to walk away from him. Derek couldn’t find himself, instead wanting to reach out for Stiles. Grab his wrist, stop him. Yell for an explanation as to why making him feel this way. For making him feel useless and broken. Alone, so alone. Making him feel like he needed more.

He couldn’t understand.

Stiles trembling in front of him was way out of what his brain could grasp. This was a reality he wasn’t expecting to face. A protective strike in between his confusion was beyond his understanding, but with the thick smell of anxiety, frustration and  _angst, so much angst_  was stronger than his fear of not knowing wgat this all was, than his bottled up anger. He wanted to reach. He _needed_  to reach. To ground Stiles, get him to understand everything was right and well. He wanted to ground himself, see that he wasn’t alone. His instinct kicking in a way he had forgotten years ago and made everything inside himself ache.  _Pack?_

A patch of skin full of moles on Stiles’ forearm took his attention. A place to mark, to feel. The memories of his mom teaching basic pack codes; right hand for family and friend, left hand for lovers. Touch is grounding and helps pack to feel secure. Marking your pack is a need, giving them your scent is giving them security. Derek’s hand moved by its own trying to touch but getting swatted away really quick. Derek flinched and looked directly at Stiles’ eyes; memories of a big house and screams of pain and sorrow filled his mind. A fire that was meant to hurt, to kill, was now part of the boy. Dread and fear pulled him down to earth, his stomach swooping in an unpleasant way.  _Not pack? No, no pack. No more pack._  Derek looked away, umconfortable and ready to be hurt like many other times. He was meant to be hurt, to be lonely, to be broken. That was his destiny, wasn’t it?

Silence reigned for a while, stretched awkwardly between them. Derek would believe he was alone again, if it wasn’t for the frantic heartbeat that his ears still picked up near him and the smell of frustration more and more pungent each second.  _No pack, you’re meant to be hurt._  A shaky breath and hesitating fingertips touching his left hand made him look back to the boy in front of him. The fire had consumed like many years ago and now there was an empty hollow that didn’t burn anymore. Stiles looked down, the smell of frustration mixing up with something akin to pain.

“You keep muttering those things, like if I’m not going to listen,” Stiles swallowed and took a deep breath before looking back up at Derek. The fire was there again, but this time more gentle, a warmt that wasn’t supposed to kill but to give life. “Is that what you think this is? That we are not pack, that you’re supposed to be hurt and left alone in,” Stiles flailed with his free hand showing around himsel, “here with painful memories until eventually you give up or someone gives you a way out? Is that your life motto?,” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer and for the first time Derek was glad for that teenager’s trait, “I don’t allow that, okay? I– we  _are_  pack.”

Splotchy red cheeks full of moles and wild determination was the only thing Derek could see in Stiles’ face. His eyes wanderes downwards at his left hand, where long and boney fingers had a tight grasp that being him human would have hurt. Derek swallowed, the smell of something warm he couldn’t pinpoint gave him a sweet taste down his tongue.

“Scott doesn’t think that–”

“Fuck Scott,” Derek quickly looked up at Stiles, who didn’t show a bit of hesitation in the sligtest. The boy’s heartbeat pounding hard against his ribcage with no stutter of a lie. “He’s my best friend and I’m always going to be by is side, but he’s being–,” Stiles’ long fingers carded through his own hair. His hand wasn’t shaking and Derek was assaulted by the idea that perhaps he was wrong. That he were wrong all this time. But the fire and his family. He was suddenly hit with the smell of the charred skeleton of the old house, making him question himself how was it possible that he ever forgot it was there. The smell of decieve, of broken dreams, of pain and missery. He growled low when the sudden need to flee assaulted him. A squeeze on his left hand brought him down to earth. The second squeeze just spreaded a warmt he had forgotten inside himself.

“We are pack, Derek. And you’re not meant to be hurt. That’s why I’m–,” Stiles swallowed, looked away for a second and then back a Derek, “I watched my mom die in front of me. I watched someone I loved die right in front of me and there was nothing I could do to change that. I was powerless and frustrated and in pain until I was left alone and pain was the only thing there for me. And I don’t want to feel that again. I’m not powerless now, I can– I’ll do something if I have to. You can’t die in front of me and let me feel that emptiness again. I don’t allow you to die.”

Derek watched Stiles for a moment, uncertain. The realization of this all happening to him was impossible to grasp. This was surreal enough to think of it as a dream but his senses were overloaded with the reality of it all. He was pack,  _they were pack._  He wasn’t meant to be alone nor to be hurt and Stiles was certain that he would not allow him to die. Derek swallowed down something very akin to tears and looked away at the firm grasp Stiles had on his hand. He pressed once, twice, and grasped back firmly. Something sweet floated now in the air, making Derek feel goosebumps on his skin. He felt safe and needed. 

“We are pack,” the sound of those words raspy against the lump on his throat. Derek wasn’t sure how long something in him waited for this to happen. For someone to see him worthy enough of being needed, and cared and loved. The corners of his mouth pulled, he wanted to smile so hard. The words rolling out his tongue. “ _We are pack_.”

Stiles smiled back at him, warm and inviting.

Derek now knew what his place on the pack really was.


End file.
